


Only A Rose

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-23
Updated: 2006-03-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8093920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Reed/f fluffy romance. (05/26/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Don't quite know where I was going with this! There should be more, but I cut it short to re-think it before my roses started rambling!  


* * *

They had met in Mexico's sprawling travel terminal, both puzzling over the unintelligible map in the foyer. As was her tendency, she'd spoken first: "Phew! You'd think whoever dreamed this one up took lessons in vague! I haven't a clue where I'm going, have you?"

Startled from his pondering, he'd glanced up with a classic "Who? Me?" look on his face and barely managed a dazed "Hmm?" in response. He'd been running his fingers through his hair in frustration and it was now spiked in all directions, at odds with his immaculate uniform and shiny boots.

She'd tried again. "The map. It isn't much help is it? I'm as lost as I was before I looked at it!"

He'd blushed then, finally comprehending, and turned quickly back to the offending street plan to hide his embarrassment. "Umm, I'm looking for accommodation. I think I may have figured out the symbol they're using for guest houses but..." He turned back to her and shrugged "I'm really not sure." Suddenly remembering his manners, he stumbled on: "So, uh, where, I mean, uh, what are you looking for?"

Without warning, her stomach had rumbled loudly and it was her turn to blush. "Lunch, I think!" He'd smiled shyly and she was captivated, finding herself desperate to prolong the conversation. "Look, I've worked out the symbol for restaurants and there should be one in the next block from here. Why don't we go and eat and maybe ask the staff if they know of any good guesthouses nearby? They'll probably be able to give us directions and everything."

For a moment he looked as if he might run away, but then, obviously deciding her intentions were, at least, fairly honourable, he nodded shyly and hoisted up her luggage along with his own. "Okay. Lead on. I don't have any better ideas."

They'd lingered in the caf for most of the afternoon, just talking. It had taken him a while to overcome his reticence, and he still tended to look at her with his head bowed, peeking up through long, dark eyelashes, but he seemed to be responding to her inherent warmth and conversation was no longer quite so stilted.

He was a newly promoted Starfleet Lieutenant on a week's leave between assignments, she a freshly qualified archaeologist, about to start her first real job here in Mexico. She'd come ten days early to have a holiday and get the feel of the place before getting down to business.

He'd said his name was Malcolm, which he hated because it sounded stuffy and boring. She'd laughed and suggested a few abbreviations, which were equally unacceptable to him, before confessing with a grimace that her own name was Rose.

With a spark of impudence, he'd smiled and said "Well, I knew it wouldn't be 'Shrinking Violet'." and earned a swipe round the head for his trouble.

At length, he'd studied her face and smiled. "Hmm. Rose. It really suits you." Then he became self-conscious again and those clear grey eyes were lowered once more, a fierce blush creeping up from his collar to his hairline!

After a few false starts, they'd found rooms in a clean, quiet, family-run hotel which had only recently opened and whose proprietor was eager to please. It had never once occurred to them to go their separate ways.

Their first full day was spent on general sightseeing. Rose was drawn to museums and Malcolm followed, finding he enjoyed her knowledgeable approach to the archaeological exhibits. He, on the other hand, was entranced by the military collections, explaining the uses of some of the ancient weaponry and comparing it with what was available to him as an Armoury specialist in Starfleet.

They'd explored markets, admired the work of Mexican artisans, sipped cold drinks in pavement cafes and, after the allergy-afflicted Malcolm had taken precautionary doses of all the medication he possessed, tried out the local cuisine. Later, they'd found a bar offering traditional Mexican music and sat there for the rest of the evening, resting their aching feet.

Malcolm had had a little too much to drink and, much to Rose's disgust, appeared to lose most of his inhibitions, regressing to rather immature behaviour and trying to pick up almost every woman that crossed his path! Some, she noticed, would have been happy to have more of his attention but he always stopped short of going off with them, seemingly at a loss as to how to proceed once he'd snared his prey.

At last, exhausted and somewhat the worse for drink, they'd woven their way back to the hotel and exchanged chaste goodnight kisses on the landing outside their rooms.

-/-

Even on holiday, and in spite of a roaring hangover, Malcolm's Starfleet training prompted him to be up early and knocking on Rose's door before she had even made it to the shower. Filled with nervous energy, and fuelled by black coffee and headache medication, he'd prowled the room, excitedly reading his proposed itinerary off a padd. Alone with Rose, he'd become animated and relaxed—but encountering people in the outside world, he was formal and subdued, as if reverting to an ingrained habit of withdrawal.

She'd spoken to him about it at dinner one evening and he'd reluctantly revealed an anxious and unhappy childhood of never being good enough in the eyes of his Naval officer father and respected academic mother. It had left him struggling for self-esteem and, even now, he was constantly troubled by imagined inadequacies, making him extremely awkward in social settings. By rejecting the Royal Navy in favour of Starfleet, he said he'd committed an unforgivable sin in his parents' eyes.

Later that week, still troubled by his estrangement from his family, Rose had persuaded him to contact them from a public com-station and update them on his life—certain that both he and they would have changed in the years since Malcolm had left home. She'd stood with him, just out of range of the visual pick-up, and watched in horror as he'd disintegrated under the indifferent gaze of Stuart and Mary Reed. They hadn't been particularly hostile: they just hadn't cared in the slightest about how he was or what he was doing. He'd disappointed them and they'd callously cut their only son out of their life without a second thought.

Eventually, Rose had been the one to sever the transmission, leading Malcolm into a quiet doorway in the street outside and just holding him for a while, praying that her well-intentioned idea hadn't added further damage to that which he'd already suffered at the hands of such cold-hearted parents. There had been no recriminations, only the sad acknowledgement—on her part and his—that it had been a bad idea, and it had taken him some time to recover his former level of confidence. Their goodnights on the landing had been a little subdued that evening, but the kisses had been warmer and deeper and longer.

-/-

On the last day of Malcolm's leave, they had both been anxious to maximise their remaining time together and had gone to a highly- recommended spa where they could lounge around in each other's company and be pampered. Although not entirely restful, both of them too aware of the increasing attraction between them to relax completely, it had been bliss—and Rose had thoroughly enjoyed rubbing sunscreen on Malcolm's spare, sinewy body then having him playfully return the favour!

There had been a large pool in the spa complex and, despite revealing a deep-seated fear of drowning, Malcolm, who could only manage a rather clumsy version of the breast-stroke, had willingly followed Rose into the deep end. She swam like a fish, he was more like a swan—stretching his neck to keep his face as far out of the water as possible. For the rest of the day, they'd sweltered in the steam rooms and baked in the sauna, had massages and mud treatments and stretched out on padded recliners to sunbathe. They'd also flirted mercilessly with each other.

It had been fun—but it was over too soon. They'd stumbled, giggling like teenagers, back to the city where Rose's eye had been caught by a tattoo parlour two blocks from their hotel. She'd wanted to have a memento of their holiday and thought she'd found the perfect solution—but Malcolm had been adamant that she shouldn't ruin her flawless skin by defacing it with coloured inks. Instead, he'd bought her some contemporary Aztec-style jewellery from one of the local craftsmen—before ducking back into the parlour to get a tattoo himself.

He'd emerged a while later, wincing a little but still smiling and refusing to tell her what he'd had done and where. She'd nagged him the whole way back to the hotel but still he'd remained tight-lipped, telling her it was none of her business, until she'd begun to think his courage had failed him at the last moment.

They were painfully aware that their time together was ticking away and, that night, the kisses hadn't ended on the landing. Knowing they might never see each other again, Rose had invited him into her room and her bed.

Their lovemaking had lasted until dawn and, as the pinkish light of the rising sun began streaming through the window, she tried to memorise the features of her sleeping lover, his nakedness now revealing his still-tender tattoo.

It was compact and shy like its owner, perched on his right hipbone and in muted colours—a perfectly rendered rose.


End file.
